Roz Fox - Sweet Tibby Mack

Justine made a strangled noise in her throat, which she quickly turned into a goodbye thrown at Tibby.

Saying nothing, Tibby bent to find the elusive map. Triumphant at last, she turned with it clutched in her hand, only to find Cicely eyeing the card that had come with the roses. Tossing two dollars atop the card, Cole’s visitor stormed out of the store, not waiting either for change or for directions to his lane.

Tibby felt her stomach lurch. Until that very moment, she’d been unwilling to admit that, in spite of their latest battle, she longed for more than an adversarial relationship with Cole O’Donnell. Even when he’d gone away to college, she’d known there’d be women. But they’d remained nameless faceless women. Easy to dismiss. It was pretty hard to disregard Ms. May Centerfold.

Tibby knew it wasn’t very nice, but she hoped Cole burned the pasta or that the wine he’d selected had been on the shelf long enough to turn to vinegar.

She sneaked a peek out the window to see if Cicely had reached Cole’s house yet. If she stood on tiptoe she could tell. “Uh-oh.” Justine still stood in the parking lot, in a cluster of Moped Mavericks. The way Justine waved her arms, Tibby knew the ladies were getting a blow-by-blow account—of everything from the roses to Cole’s girlfriend. It certainly wouldn’t do to let that bunch see her spying. Jerking back, Tibby fussed with the shelves. Darn, she was tempted to take Exterminator out to explore. Stoically she resisted. Besides, her friends would see right through the flimsy ploy.

COLE RACED HOME after leaving the heavy-equipment contractor and the county inspector in charge of issuing permits. Since he owned the land, the inspector saw no problem with starting to clear it. The permits themselves would take a few weeks. Technically, county planners had to approve the drawings. Cole was confident his would pass muster; after all, it was how he made his living.

But he’d been a lot later winding things down than he’d planned. He hadn’t showered, let alone started the pasta sauce. By his calculations Cicely should be rolling in soon. Cole’s intent had been to have everything done except tossing the salad, so they could sit out on the patio and share a relaxing glass of wine without intrusion.

Stripping, he stepped into a cool shower. There was still one potential oil slick to mar his smooth sailing. Tibby Mack’s blasted post office. He hadn’t mentioned that little snafu to the inspector. Jockeying the location of his clubhouse entailed redrawing the entire plan and resubmitting it. Plus, he’d planned on using her traffic light. It was the only one in Yaqui Springs. As this wasn’t technically a town, he didn’t relish the thought of talking the county into installing another. He could just imagine it—weeks of costly traffic studies that would end with him paying some outrageous price for putting in a light. If the powersthat-be deemed a light was necessary.

Cole washed his hair, rinsed off, then blindly grabbed for a towel. He regretted having lost his temper with Tibby earlier. Unfortunately Tibby Mack had a way of setting him off like no other woman he’d ever met. He owed her an apology for this morning. And he’d have delivered it, except she’d been gone all afternoon. Where to? he wondered. Not that what she did was any of his business.

Irritated by his turn of thought, Cole took care laying out his clothes. Cicely liked a man’s slacks pressed and his shoes shined. She was big on people wearing the right weight for the right season, too, he recalled as he quickly discarded one shirt and selected another.

Heading for the kitchen, he strapped on his watch. Once there, he uncorked the wine to let it breathe, then decided to set the table on the patio while it was still light. He’d bought a candle in a shallow dish for a centerpiece. Nothing he hated more than breaking his neck trying to see the person seated across from him.

Was he nervous? Probably. It’d been nearly five months since he’d seen her. Cole didn’t kid himself that Cicely had sworn off dating while he was in Europe. They’d had no real commitment then. If things were to change, it was imperative that Cicely like Yaqui Springs, dinky or not.

Straightening, Cole gazed out through a ruff of pine trees toward the Mack place. Tibby seemed acclimated to the slower pace. Even when she was busy, she didn’t give the appearance of rushing. Her braid sort of floated lazily out behind her when she walked, the honey gold strands catching fire in the sun.

But why was he dreaming about Tibby’s hair when Cicely was due any moment? In fact—he cocked his head—was that someone at his front door? It sure sounded like it. Damn, now he’d be cooking, instead of relaxing. But maybe she’d like to shower and rest after the drive. Cicely had a tendency to be high-strung.

Cole skirted the couch on his way through the living room. When he reached the entry, he flung open the door, prepared to greet and be greeted with a lingering kiss.

Instead, Cicely exploded through the door, tromping on his new Italian loafers. Her spine carefully rigid, she paced the room in circles.

“Wake me at midnight, beg me to come for a romantic interlude—or at least that’s what I thought your call implied, Cole. Did you think I wouldn’t find out you’ve got another woman stashed in the wings? I guess you did, since it was quite by accident I found out.” She flung a hand dramatically toward the south wall. Silver bracelets skittered up and down her slender arm.

“Cicely, hold it right there. I have no idea what you’re raving about.”

“Ha! I’m raving about the dozen roses you sent that…that…funky…person, when you’ve never sent me so much as a carnation.”

Cole stared at her. “You told me flowers make you sneeze. That’s why I haven’t sent.you any. But I haven’t sent them to anyone else, either.”

“Ha!”

“Will you quit saying that?”

“Don’t lie to me, Cole. I read the card. Some drivel about how you’re sorry and would she please forgive you. I could hardly miss it. She left it on the counter for the whole world to see. What are you sorry for, I’d like to know?”

“She who?” Cole reached for Cicely, but she pushed him away.

“That woman at the country store. The one wearing the kiddy braid and sweet-as-apple-pie smile. That she who.”

“Tibby?”

“If that’s her name, yes.” Cicely sniffed and inspected her nails.

“Listen, I don’t know what you think you saw. I swear I did not send her flowers. We’ll go over there right now and get to the bottom of this.”

“You go. Get the card. I’d like to hear you explain how your name got on it.”

“All right, I will. I’ve opened a bottle of wine. Help yourself. Relax. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.” Cole steered her to the kitchen, where he pointed out the wine.

“Ha!”

Since she insisted on sounding like a broken record, he stalked out the back door, past the table he’d so carefully set and down the back steps. At the trailhead, he met Winnie Toliver. She clutched a crystal bowl full of green salad. Probably on her way to a potluck. Joe had mentioned that the residents held quite a few. Cole would have passed her with a brief greeting, except that Winnie grabbed his shirtsleeve.

“I hear you have a dinner guest, Cole. Shame on you for not telling us sooner. A man entertaining a lady shouldn’t have to cook. I’ll just leave this salad on your counter, shall I? Henrietta’s making you manicotti. Rosamond promised a dessert to die for. If you’re on your way to the store, pick up a nice bottle of red wine. A fullbodied red goes best with pasta.”

Cole started to object. Then he held his tongue. He didn’t know how long this mission would take. It’d be nice not to have to cook dinner and spend the time pacifying Cicely, instead. Smiling, he capitulated. “Thanks. Her name’s Cicely. I’d appreciate it if you made her feel welcome. I want her to like it here, if you get my drift.”